Mike Maggio

Mirror

in the other-world of dreams
death is birth
love returns and
standing still
one flies
 
pain is pleasure
sadness 
beckons joy 
and
grief is 
an endless 
celebration ...
 
is it 
any wonder then
that
waking
i dream 
of dreams?

Copyright 2924 by Rich Follett

Rich Follett, the Poet Laureate of Strasburg, VA, has authored Responsorials (with Constance Stadler, 2009), Silence, Inhabited (2011), Human &c. (2013), and Geminations (with Constance Stadler, 2023) through NeoPoesis Press, and Photo-Ku (2016) through NightWing Publications. Rich is featured in the ODU Virginia Poets Database at https://digitalcommons.odu.edu/virginiapoets. Information and publications at www.richfollett.com.

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The Earth, Sea, Ripe Fruit

The field is parched and cracked
August angry cornstalks
splitting open the earth’s maw
merciless blue sky
but we swim in a grey angry sea
the roar of the surf in our ears like sirens
the seagulls mock us in the chill air
my ex-husband now swims in front of me
wearing a scuba mask
I want to don my mask too
but I am worried about losing
my $600 progressive glasses
or being pulled out to sea by the undertow
I drive my red Prius across the field
the Earth’s maw wants to eat it.
You are coming over tonight
we will kiss on my sofa
until our lips
are swollen
like ripe bruised fruit.

Copyright 2024 by Susan Notar

Susan Notar is a Pushcart prize nominated poet.  She has flown over Iraq wearing body armor and makes a mean beurre blanc sauce.  Her work has appeared in numerous publications including Artemis, Burningword, Burgeon, the Bridgeville Review, the Forgotten River, Joys of the Table, Alianza Latina Antolgia de Poemas, and Written in Arlington,.  She works at the U.S. Department of Justice helping victims of terrorist attacks.

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Beyond Understanding


Abandonment mingles with pain
when my two friends suddenly disappear
without sharing with me their plans.
My pace, deliberate. Theirs, too fast.
They’re visible ahead but I can’t catch up. 

While climbing the stairs, someone pushes
hard into my back because I am too slow.
During this unusually turbulent moment,
I turn and boot his abdomen, hard—
leaving him the one falling behind.

The aches in my back, hip, now foot, pale 
only to feeling discomfort with my reflex.
Apparently beyond control, violent kicking 
has entered my lexicon of acceptable behavior.
I proceed victorious...and diminished.

Turning the other cheek takes on new meaning
while pains from my earlier 8-mile walk
stab their presence, head to butt to toe.
With eyes closed wide open, I thrash about,
encounter sketchy strangers along my way.

One offers candy. Another, a flirty compliment.
A third offers delayed assistance, more time
for me to wait, unsure of the outcome,
unsure of the place being right, in this
arcade of performers on large and small stages.

Finally, one of my friends sees me,
hands me my ticket, turns, speeds off
leaving me frowning—amidst a crowd
of intermission-mingling smiles—
forced to ask an usher for assistance.

I finally reach my seat next to theirs.
No apologies offered. No guilt espied.
Comfortable in their own skins, it seems
they would do it all over again.—And me?
Still asleep, struggling to interpret this dream.

Copyright 2024 by Joy Martin 

Joy’s writings have been published in Muddy River Poetry Review, Midway Journal, Radical Teacher Journal, Ibbetson Street Press, Josie’s Trunk, and Blended Voices.  She serves on the board of the New England Poetry Club and is a member of The Poetry Society of Virginia and Newton Poetry.  Her poems explore multitudinous facets of life, including her and broader humanity’s place and challenges within it.

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The building is wide and tall
and tension crawls along.
 
Discarded objects
lay all around, neglected,
 
hitting my eyes and thoughts
as if forgotten ages.
 
I go – a moving walkway
leads me forward, unwilling.
 
I walk through the dark cellars,
a long, underground corridor.
 
Dozens of doors are waiting:
they sleep as I go by.
 
I expect the abandoned ones,
the lost people of my life,
 
to jump out of a room
as if we’d never lost sight,
 
to show up for a while
for a greeting or chatter.
 
Suddenly everything is crowded:
I’m there, in an old theater,
 
sitting comfortably desperate,
next to a once-cherished face
 
that faded a longtime ago.

Copyright 2024 by Mario Badino

Mario Badino lives in Italy, where he teaches Italian in middle school. He is the author of three books of poetry (“Cianfrusaglia”, “Barricate!” and “Santificare le feste”) and he’s a member of the poetic collective SlammalS, that promotes spoken-word poetry in Southern Italy. The first poems he’s not ashamed of date back to 2000, and were part of the art installation “Stanze per un improbabile paesaggio”, created together with the photographer Paolo Rey. You can read more about him on his web site cianfrusaglia.wordpress.com.

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Tornado
    a destructive vortex of violent rotating winds

Outside is bright
with grey green light.
Sky is black with 
mountains of clouds.

A siren pierces
like an arrow of sound
dissolves in thick air.

Pressure pounds -- blood,
skin, even hair feels it.
Something might explode.

There is a gathering.
Feel it pull towards center,
push air out of your lungs.

Something moves
something else follows
forces are building.

Center yourself.
Gather around center.

Breathe.

Feel the building forces.
Your head begins to spin.

Breathe.

An alarm sounds.
Your alarm sounds.

Open your eyes and see
the spinning forces that live
in the black center there.

Copyright 2024 by Susan Scheid

Susan Scheid is a poet and literary activist who lives in Washington, DC with her family and their two cats.  Susan honed her craft while working for the last 30 years as a Legal Secretary.  She was inspired by her father reading poems to her at bedtime and by stories of him reading poetry to his fellow wounded soldiers in medical hospitals during WWII.  Her first book, After Enchantment, was influenced by her love of fairy tales.  Susan’s poetry has also appeared in a number of literary journals, in the chapbook anthology, Poetic Art,and the anthology, Enchantment of the Ordinary. Her book, True Blue, is forthcoming from Finishing Line Press. As a former Board member for Split This Rock she helped bring poetry and activism to thousands of people. 

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THE RESORT (a recurring dream)


Come in and sit down in the coffee-stain brown
conference room of the hotel in paradise. Welcome!
This won’t take too long.

Out the window you see the beach that you came for,
the sparkling blue topaz you’ll soon be immersed in
as soon as we’re finished.

This shouldn’t take long. Yes: the room’s rather dark
and smells of stale donuts and Sterno. Outside, just imagine:
like fresh sea and jasmine.

You’ll be out there soon. This shouldn’t take long.
The presentation is part of what you agreed to.
You’re here for one day, so

we’ll try to go quickly. Please open your binders.
(I must take this call. I’ll be back in a minute.)
Just look at that ocean:

Just think of that feeling, warm sea on your skin, that’s so
tired from traveling. The A/C’s not working;
The workman comes Monday.

By then you’ll have left us. I won’t be a moment.
Page one of your binders: A brief presentation,
and then we’ll release you

to fresh air and music, to sun and clear ocean — 
It’s right there before you but we cannot let you
until we have finished

this quick presentation, 100-page binder
our first of five speakers explaining our business.
The bright sun is dimming.

The beach slowly empties. We know you’re impatient.
You’re leaving tomorrow. We’ll start in a moment.
This shouldn’t take long.

Copyright 2024 by Jennifer Keith

Jennifer Keith plays bass for the rock band Batworth Stone. Her poems have appeared in The Free State Review, Alan Squire Bulletin, Best American Poetry 2015, and elsewhere. Her first full-length poetry collection, Terminarch, won the 2023 Able Muse Book Award. She lives in Baltimore, Maryland.

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DREAM FALLING


I’m falling furiously fast

and yet in slow motion

down 
	down 
		down 

out of the highest heavens

far above the clouds
		
		infinitely fast 
			
			and yet timelessly present

(like it might well have been for

those desperate World Trade Center 

jumpers who tumbled

and flew without wings

to their deaths)

But for me it was life, not death

that ensued since I

landed so softly in long lush grass

where I rolled 
	
		& rolled 
	
			& rolled

in ecstatic joy

All around me was green

		—the color of love—

She’s dying I heard a voice say

No said another voice

She just fell off her bike 

YES I responded as I woke up

YES.  YES   YES
 
Copyright 2024 by Joan Dobbie

Joan Dobbie teaches Hatha Yoga and Meditation at the University of Oregon, from which she also has an MFA in Creative Writing. She is presently president of the Emerald Literary Guild (A.K.A. Lane Literary Guild) based in Eugene, and co-hosts the WINDFALL Reading Series at the Downtown Eugene Public Library. Her poetry website is: joanspoetry.blogspot.com.

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Family Artsy Empire 

Tranquil Heavenly blue skies
Twinkling sparkling celestial stars.
Let’s get on with spectacular show, 
  something for everyone.
Lights, camera action!
Everyone in talented family is happy as can be.
Hearts filled with happiness and phenomenal glee.
Family Artsy Empire is formed by God given talents 
  and creative abilities.
Matriarch is Empress of Empire, dressed in glamorous 
  violet gown, trimmed in various precious gems.
Time to celebrate years of work.  Time to celebrate 
  good times. Time to celebrate God given talents.
Empress is ecstatic to be acknowledged for written 
  words of international classical song to be played all 
  over the world to bring attention to Hunger.
Brother stands proud under handmade exotic wood 
  stained glass shaded floor lamp with matching room 
  divider.
Melodies belting from his handmade  custom cello.
Wooden Works, thrives.
Sister’s International Irie Artistry of vibrant original 
  paintings flourished atmosphere.  From DMV, to 
  Jackson Square to cities all over world.
We run to the Hollywood Walk of Fame and kneel 
  before individual Stars carrying each of our names.

Copyright 2024 by Sylvia “Ladi Di” Beverly 

Sylvia Dianne Beverly, aka Ladi Di is an internationally recognized poet. Ladi Di is also called “Love Poet”. The late Dr. Maya Angelou is her hero. She is the proud Matriarch of her family. Celebrating Black History 2018, she and her family received posthumously for her Dad, a “Congressional Gold Medal” from the United States Marines.  She is a Poet of Excellence in Prince Georges County 2020 and Literary Leader in Prince George’s County 2022/23. Ladi Di’s upcoming book “A Kiss of Curiosity” and a classical CD, “Pitch In” are scheduled to be released May 2024. Poetry is her passion. you can reach her at syladydi@comcast.net, and on Instagram @lovepoet13

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I Dreamed of Home…

dirt road of rutted red clay leading past overgrown 
fields, tobacco barn, beyond trees posted, “No Trespassing.”

My dream of home so real: red brick, white columns, wide porch
we sat on in profligate thunderstorms, sky dark, emptying,
the only light orange glow from Mom’s Marlboro.

In my dream, night me roams sparse rooms, lapping 
circle layout, walking, no, flowing from one part
to the next, one fleet-footed step ahead of whatever’s in pursuit.

I wind up in the basement, pilgrimage of my 
subconscious among overstuffed boxes, old appliances, 
forgotten toys, Mom’s stamp collection, my banana seat bike,

vast unfinished space, like me.

Then a new house: a friend’s,
low-slung, adobe, stucco – cool rooms, quiet spaces –
I told them, “It’s changed! This isn’t your house.”

No response, just a smile, I might like 
this Southwestern style home if I can let go of the other – 
hush anxiety, accept a different version of a for-now bodily home, 

while night me travels, free of the corporeal:

lighter than one could ever feel in a body,
expanding, rising up – out into the atmosphere …
beyond, transcendent, away. 

Copyright 2024 by Kathy Cable Smaltz

Kathy Cable Smaltz’s work has been published in numerous journals, and she has one collection of poetry, Pieces. From 2016-2018 she served as Prince William County’s Poet Laureate and has been an educator for 29 years. A wife and mother of four, she and her family reside in Nokesville, VA. 

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Shapeshifting Nightmare

nightmare
apple tree freed
walking toward me
 
I rest at its trunk,
watch it teeter, push it back 
with hidden strength

nightmare
transforming heads
eyed to eyeless
 
transforming body
winged to wingless
will I see or will I fly?

nightmare 
cat in the microwave
hairless but alive.

am I the cat
alive 
and trapped?

nightmare
I am the tree
in a snowy forest

black pickup
barrels towards me
I am the driver

Copyright 2024 by Cathy Hailey 

Cathy Hailey teaches in Johns Hopkins University’s online MA in Teaching Writing program. She is Northern Region Vice President and Student Contest Chair of The Poetry Society of Virginia and organizes In the Company of Laureates. Her chapbook, I’d Rather Be a Hyacinth, was published by Finishing Line Press.

30 for 30 is sponsored by Potomac Review